


you have someone that loves you

by xintong



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Season 5 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 17:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13862265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xintong/pseuds/xintong
Summary: Quietly, Lance can admit to himself that he sometimes misses it. The feeling of being Keith’s partner, his equal. Someone who Keith could trust to confide in and find support from. They could’ve still had that, if Keith hadn’t left him.





	you have someone that loves you

**Author's Note:**

> Had to jot this down after watching Voltron S5. Returning to my cave now, lol. Title from "Someone That Loves You" by HONNE & Izzy Bizu.

The grip of a sword feels nothing like the pull of a trigger.

Lance sucks in a breath as combat level 5 boots up in the training deck, calluses chafing painfully around the handle of the Altean broadsword. He grits his teeth through the burn and swipes the sweat on his brow against his shoulder, mentally bracing himself for the next onslaught of drones.

More and more often now, it seems he finds himself on the training deck alone. Some days he does it on a whim, when video games have dried out his eyes or Kaltenecker isn’t feeling up for a milkshake. Other days, like this one, it’s because he needs a distraction. Something to quiet the noise in his mind.  

It’s the third time this week that Shiro’s dismissed him, disregarded Lance’s opinion and input like they were worth nothing. Lance would think that he’d be used to the treatment by now, but it still hurts more than he’d like to admit every time. He didn’t have the heart to push all the blame onto Shiro though, knowing how much stress and pressure the Black Paladin has been under lately. Lance just wishes he’d be open to listening to him at least once in a while, instead of shutting him down time and time again.

It hurts the same when Hunk and Pidge leave him out, too. Not intentionally, of course, Lance knows. When they spiral into their alien tech jargon there’s simply no point for Lance to stick around, even if he wanted to. He’d only be an annoyance or a distraction, and he didn’t want to hear a rejection coming from his best friends of all people.

The sentiment’s about the same with Coran as well, and Allura’s constantly too busy with Lotor. Constantly too busy for him.

It seems like there’s no place for him anywhere. He’s surrounded by the people he cares about, and yet. Somedays, he’s never felt more alone.

The drones eventually overwhelm him, and he has to shout the end sequence command before nearly collapsing onto the ground, leaning heavily against his sword. His entire body aches from exertion and no doubt multiple bruises, but there’s a pleasant, numbing rush, too. It does the trick, tranquilizing the most violent of his thoughts.

A part of Lance wonders if this is why Keith likes to train so much.

“Thought you were the sharpshooter and I was the samurai,” a familiar voice says. Lance nearly loses his balance, body nosediving forward, but luckily he manages to right himself. Cool as a cucumber. 

When he turns to look at Keith, he doesn’t want to think too carefully about the relief that washes over him, warm like the summer tide of the ocean.  

“You are,” he agrees, and he’s surprised as much as Keith is by his easy omission, his casual slip of tongue. He quickly backtracks. “But you know me: strong, handsome, multi-talented. Not to mention devilishly handsome.” He sees Keith roll his eyes with a quirk of his lips. A light bloom of warmth unfurls from his chest at the sight. “Can’t help it if I pick up a new skill or two. Better keep up, mullet.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Keith says, and joins Lance as he flops onto the floor, sitting cross-legged beside him. Their knees brush, but Keith doesn’t move away, so Lance doesn’t either. He’s suddenly acutely aware of how sweaty and gross he must look though, and tries hard not to panic at the thought. It’s only Keith. Why does Lance have to care about looking nice for him?

“So uh, what are you doing here? Kolivan visiting?” Lance sets his bayard down in his lap and wills himself not to fidget. Not to mess with his hair. Not to concentrate on the heat at the place where his knee and Keith’s knee touch.

Keith nods, seeming oblivious to Lance’s woes as usual. Butthead. “He’s briefing Shiro right now on our last mission. Both Commanders Ladnok and Trugg have been neutralized along with their fleets, so that’s two less Galra Commanders to worry about.”

“Nice, good to hear you guys are getting a lot done out there.”

Keith smiles in response, but doesn’t say any more. Lance kind of wishes he would, considering how long they haven’t seen each other, but the other boy seems to be as tight-lipped as ever.  

Something’s bothering him though, Lance can tell. It’s in the rise of his shoulders and the clench of his hands, twisting around his knife. How he won’t meet Lance’s eyes. This is a Keith who has something on his mind but doesn’t quite know how to put it into words yet. A Keith Lance grew familiar with during his brief role as the former Red Paladin’s right-hand man.

Quietly, Lance can admit to himself that he sometimes misses it. The feeling of being Keith’s partner, his equal. Someone who Keith could trust to confide in and find support from. A rival, teammate, and a friend.  

They could’ve still had that, if Keith hadn’t left him.

“What’s on your mind, mullet?” Lance asks, trying to sound laid-back about it, a part of him scared Keith might clam up and run away. It almost seems like he might — whole body stiffening along with Lance’s breath in his throat — but then the tension loosens, his shoulders falling lax.

When he lifts his gaze, Lance meets it.

“I met my mom,” he says. The smile he gives doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Lance, on the other hand, couldn’t be more ecstatic over the news. “Keith, that’s amazing! Holy quiznak. What’s she like?”

Keith’s eyes crinkle at his reaction, but it’s still not honest. Still nowhere near as happy as Lance would think he’d be. “Her name’s Krolia. She’s Galra.”

“And?”

“That’s,” Keith starts. Then stops, the grimace cutting deep. “That’s it. I don’t know anything else about her.”

The sigh that escapes him is heavy with exhaustion. His brows are so creased Lance just knows he’s going to get premature wrinkles in less than a year, and his grip is knuckle-white on the hilt of his knife. Unthinkingly, Lance places his hand on top of Keith’s knee, thumb stroking against the dip of bone.

It had become something of a reflex for him before Keith left, providing the other boy comfort through touch. Lance has always been a tactile person, and Keith, though surprised at first, would always calm down easier when he had a hand on his back or a shoulder to lean on. At one point, Lance had the craziest thought that Keith even sought it from him, hackles raised until Lance would touch his skin.

That hasn’t changed, even after months apart. Keith struggles to voice his emotions, and Lance patiently waits for him.

“I want her to— I want her to  _feel_  like my mom, but… She’s a stranger to me. And every time I look at her all I can think is, why did you leave me?”

Lance feels his own heart throb, sore and sharp. “So ask. Talk to her.”

Keith laughs, but it’s an ugly, half sound. “You know I’m not a talker.”

“I know.” Lance offers a faint smile. His hand shifts to apply broader strokes down Keith’s calves, movements only partially conscious, his focus on Keith’s comfort. “Are you scared of what her answer might be?”

It takes a minute, but Keith eventually nods. Lance gives his leg a squeeze, and wracks his brain for how best to address his worries. He thinks of his own mom, back on Earth: amber in the gilt of afternoon, arms dusted in flour, in dirt, holding Lance close. She smells like honey, and the lilies in their backyard. Like home.

“You know,” he begins, gaze dropping low to Keith’s collarbone, not quite able to meet his eyes. “My mom used to tell me and my siblings that, when each of us were born, we all tore a piece of her heart from her. That’s why it hurt so much giving birth.” At Keith’s alarmed look, Lance laughs just a little. “Yeah, we were horrified when she told us that as kids, too. My mom does  _not_ sugarcoat her words.”

A weight ties in his throat, iron bitter. It’s hard to swallow.

“But, I think what she was trying to say was that, we all had a piece of her love inside us. That her love is always there, whether she’s angry at us for making a mess in the house or far away working and can’t hold us. She was telling us that her love is unconditional, and forever, and that we should never have doubt in it.”

The weight burns, and it’s hard to hold back the tears. God, he’s supposed to be comforting Keith, not crying.

“I know not all moms are the same, and some can be pretty shitty, even. But I know most moms love their kids, and that abandoning them feels like losing a piece of their heart.”

He startles a bit when Keith’s own hand covers his own. The touch grounds him enough that he can blink away the tears and look at Keith, smiling encouragingly.

“Talk to your mom, Keith. I think you should give her the chance to say her peace.”

In his own heart, Lance has faith that Keith’s mom must love him; must have only left Keith because she had to. Keith has to come to his own conclusion though, whether to let his mom back into his life or not. He’s always been more guarded up front.

But past those walls, he’s like an open book. One that Lance can study the pages of, memorize every shift in expression and body language.

Keith clenches his jaw when he’s thinking. Keith holds Lance’s hand when he’s unsure.  

“Okay, I will,” he eventually says. There’s clarity in his eyes now. A tentative hope. “Thank you, Lance.”

“Anytime.”

Lance throws a toothy grin before extracting himself from Keith, flopping down onto his back on the floor. The exhaustion has sunk in, and if he’s not careful, he might just fall asleep here on the deck. Keith stretches down on his side with Lance, body facing him and jaw propped on his hand. He’s gazing at Lance in a strange way that makes him feel warm, self-conscious.

“You, um. How are you doing?”

Laughter bubbles in Lance’s throat at Keith’s awkward but earnest attempt to return comfort. He smiles at him, eyelids drooping sleepily. “I’m fine, good. Just buffing up. Trying to stay on top of my game.”

“Seems like you’re doing good,” Keith says with a smile of his own. If Lance wasn’t so tired, he might’ve caught the once-over Keith gives him, eyes slow and appreciative. After a moment though, that gaze clouds over, and that Lance does catch. “The team seems good.”  

 _Without me,_  is the implication left unspoken. Lance hears it all the same, the knowledge that Keith feeling unneeded sinking in like a shipwreck, hollowing out his chest.

“It’s not the same without you,” he says, fervent and fierce. He pins Keith with a glare, wanting to wrangle that silly idea out of his head. Keith gives a wry smile.

“Who would you make fun of, right?”

“Yeah, sure, but more than that.”  _So much more than that._   _“_ I miss you.” And, “It’s lonely here without you.”

Keith looks struck, as if someone had landed a solid punch. Lance closes his eyes so that he won’t overanalyze everything he sees, overthink what he just admitted. He won’t take it back. He’s too tired to be anything else but honest.

Suddenly, the ground falls away from him, strong arms hooking around his back and below his knees. He yelps as he’s swept up and tucked against a broad chest, head pillowing against armor plating. His arms loop instinctively to hold fast, pulling Keith closer even as his heart hammers.

“Wha—” he tries to ask as Keith begins walking like Lance weighs nothing. They exit the training deck and down the hall, Lance unable to see direction when he’s focused on the cut of Keith’s jaw and the pink of his ear. His hair curls against the nape of his neck, covering the delicate skin there. Lance, high on exhaustion fumes he tells himself, wants to kiss that patch of skin and watch it color.

“You’re not sleeping on the training deck,” Keith says, and even through the armor, Lance can feel the rumble of his voice. “You’ll complain about ruining your skin tomorrow and then no one in the Castle will hear the end of it.”

“Ah, how chivalrous of you,” Lance teases, quietly thrilled that Keith remembers that detail of him. “Thinking of everyone else’s benefit.”

They make their way to Lance’s room, which is a bit of a walk from the training deck, but maybe Keith’s taking it slow. Lance wiggles in his hold a few times — partly to be a hard-ass, partly because he enjoys the feel of Keith’s hold tightening around him every time.

“Who’s been teaching you how to wield?” Keith asks, resolutely looking forward down the hallway, ignoring Lance’s giggles.

“Allura’s been teaching me,” Lance answers. His good mood falters a little when he remembers why he was practicing alone in the first place. “But lately she’s too busy researching Altean alchemy with Lotor.”

“I can teach you. If you’d like. I’ll be here tomorrow, too.” Keith says it so casually and easily, but Lance’s heart nearly backflips out of his chest. He hides his face at the base of Keith’s throat, refusing to turn even as he feels Keith shift to look down at him in question.

Lance doesn’t trust the heat on his cheeks, the sting in his eyes.

“I’d like that,” he mumbles. “Thanks, Keith.”

“Anytime,” Keith says, echoing Lance’s earlier sentiment. Lance peeks a smile at him that Keith returns, looking away after a moment to continue through the castle to Lance’s dorm. In the back of his mind, Lance hopes, selfishly and absurdly, that the walk there never ends.

He doesn’t feel so alone anymore.


End file.
